Last Request
by lost0and0found
Summary: 'You realize we're not going anywhere with this, right? ' she asks, looking at his stretched hand. 'But one last time we can go there,' he shrugs, his eyes unwavering. Lit. Non-canon.


**Disclaimer: the story title and idea are inspired by Paolo Nutini's song. I don't own the characters.**

* * *

_ ... Slow down, lie down, __remember it's just you and me..._

The papers are lying on the kitchen table, right where he left them after hanging up, two hours ago. He keeps staring at them with the corner of his eye.

Doorbell.

He makes no move to stand up from the chair, discarding the second time the doorbell rings, as well.

There's a third time, longer and more insistent, and he gets up.

No need to rush, she snaps to his side as she passes him by, heading for the kitchen.

You got a key, he shrugs, well knowing she still keeps the key in her purse.

She doesn't reply, because it's true. She has a key. She still keeps it in her purse.

He walks behind her and studies her stiff shoulders.

_This used to be your home, too, remember? Our home._

She reaches the center of the living room and turns back abruptly.

'Okay, what did you need me for?' she asks in her business tone. He hates it.

She knows he hates this tone and uses is nonetheless.

'What did you need me for, Jess?' she repeats impatiently.

What do I need you for, he laughs inwardly. _Everything?_

He gives her a strange look before his brows curve up in silent challenge.

She breathes out through her nose.

'Of course,' she shakes her head with a bitter smile, 'I should've guessed.'

He is standing in front of her one more time, casual as ever, fooling her around, pulling another Jess prank. _How typical._

She gives him a stern look and makes a move to go past him.

'Hey,' he speaks and she can tell his voice is nervous.

'Slow down,' he asks, one hand barely on her elbow. She looks down at his hand.

He still keeps his ring on. It almost burns her through the light silk of her blouse.

She shrugs him off stiffly. A sigh. She's tired. She's tired of fighting him. He makes it impossible to negotiate with him, but it's even more impossible to fight him.

'Jess, we agreed that...' she starts wearily.

'I know what we agreed on,' he cuts in and his features sharpen in unspoken dislike. 'You'll have the papers signed as promised.'

His last words take her by surprise and she doesn't say anything for a moment. She doesn't know what she feels. If it's relief. If it's regret. Maybe there's both. And more.

She tucks a stray of hair behind her ear.

'Okay, then,' she heads for the kitchen table to drag a chair and spots the papers. They lie unopened and she gives him a look.

'Take the guns down, sergeant,' he puts his hands up in mock terror. 'I said you'll have them signed and you will. But,' he adds with clear amusement, 'I have one condition.'

'Of course you do,' she rolls her eyes.

He shrugs with an unwavering smirk.

'You know me,' he says and she almost smiles before it starts to hurt her in a way she almost forgot it could. Almost.

'I do,' she says back and for a moment it hurts them both.

She knows him. Like hell, she does.

'So, what is your condition?' she asks briskly, regaining her business tone. 'I'm actually curious,' she adds with a trace of sarcasm.

'Spend the night with me,' he says right in her eyes and for a moment her mouth can't move.

'Excuse me?' she says when she realizes she's staring open-mouthed at his smug smile.

'I said, you'll have the divorce papers signed first thing tomorrow morning, once you've spent the night with me.'

She considers slapping him. She really does. Something in his smile stops her, though. He's smirking alright, but it's not his trademark sideways smirk, it's a forced effort to keep it up, that bluff he's giving her right now. The corners of his mouth are slightly quivering and she knows he's just playing it cool. He is really upset. There were times she'd let him bury his face in her chest and hold him close for hours when she saw that face on him. That was a long time ago.

'Jess...' she sighs.

'Rory,' he speaks and his voice is gentle, he's trying to regain his balance. 'I don't mean you have to spend the night _in bed_ with me, I just ask you to spend the night in the same _room_ with me. Just... talking.'

Her brows quirk up.

'I mean it,' he says and she knows he means it. He licks a lip. 'Just... sitting, staring at our shoes, whatever. Remember how this used to be?'

_Remember how this used to be?_ Here it is again, that ease with which he says things that just get to her. It hurts. She thought it wouldn't. It does.

'No.'

_No! No, no, no, no , NO!_

_Don't say 'no' just to make me stop talking or make me go away. Only say 'no' if you really don't want to be with me._

_She had to say no. She kissed him instead. Three weeks later they got married.  
_

_...I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and health..._

She makes her way past him and his shoulders are a bit slumped. Back when they shared the same bed in what was once her home too, she really hated to let him win an argument. But there was that thing, she hated it even more when _she_ ended up winning an argument through hurting him. It felt bad. Not because of some abstract sense of morality, but because it literally made her ache along with him. Maybe that was all marriage's fault.

_... to have and to hold from this day forward...  
_

'Why?' he asks and she turns back. 'What are you afraid is gonna happen?'

'Oh, please,' she huffs at his smugness.

'What is it then, Rory?' he insists and makes a step towards her. 'Am I so obnoxious, you can't even bring yourself to spend a few hours in the same room with me anymore?'

Her chin quivers in an effort to not start yelling at him. That's exactly why they shouldn't be in the same room. That's why she shouldn't have conceded to coming and meeting him here unofficially.

_No lawyers, no long dark glass tables, just you and me. I'll sign the damn papers alright, I just... can you... will you come?_

Spotting the play of emotions across her features, Jess takes a breath to steady his voice.

'Rory, I don't wanna fight you, okay?'

'Yeah,' she shakes her head in disbelief, 'trying to blackmail me clearly proves so.'

He stares at her and the hurt in his eyes stabs her. She feels her resolve slip away.

_... for better or for worse..._

She starts to blink apprehensively.

_That's why I can't stay here tonight, can't you see? It's pointless. It hurts too much too easily. Why should we put ourselves through this when it's bound to lead us nowhere? Don't you know why I came here? I came because you were so upset over the phone, and I can't stand seeing you upset, I can't even stand hearing you upset - it still hurts _me_ when you sound upset..._

'When a man dies, they're granted a last request, aren't they?' he asks in unarguable logic.

'You're not dying,' she points out.

_Our marriage is, for fuck's sake, I'm not gonna sit and watch idly by._

'We owe this to each other,' he replies stubbornly.

'I don't owe you anything anymore, Jess,' she states sullenly. 'Isn't that the exact meaning of those papers you keep refusing to sign?' she adds bitterly.

'You married me.'

Her breath catches. That simple fact still carries so much weight.

_... in joy as well as in sorrow..._

'I was nineteen. You came and asked me to run away with you and I married you in a side of the road chapel near Las Vegas. I married you. I was _nineteen_, for Christ's sake!'

Jess narrows his eyes incredulously. Jeez, she's trying to make it sound like she married him _only_ because she was nineteen.

'You loved me,' he states simply. 'That's why you married me.'

It's not an accusation, although she well deserves one. It's a simple fact. No more, no less.

You loved me.

She doesn't object. That's true. They both know it's true, there's no point in denying it. Loved. Past tense. He didn't dare use the present.

'Jess,' she speaks softly, her temper down, 'this will only hurt us both without changing anything.'

He swallows and his voice box moves up and then down again.

'It already is,' he says calmly and there's persistence in his eyes. 'Don't bow out, Ror...'

_... I promise to love you unconditionally..._

She purses her lips together and turns to leave her bag on the sofa, avoiding his look. She doesn't want to see hope in his eyes, if any, she doesn't want to know if he's feeling triumphant with his momentary success, if he's just bullshitting her around, she just wants this to be over.

She pauses for a moment, catching sight of a photo that lies on the bookshelf behind the sofa. It's a snapshot of them on her graduation day at Yale. She's wearing a robe and she's just thrown her cap. He's in his uniform pants and jacket (_Speed Delivery, you get deliveries faster than you can get a heart attack!_) Both are laughing with their faces up, watching her cap's flight in the air.

'That's when everything started to go wrong, isn't it?' Jess asks behind her back and she jumps at the sound of his voice. 'Your graduation from Yale,' Jess explains when she gives him a questioning look. 'Something happened then.'

She straightens up and averts her look, pretending to be looking for something.

'Yeah,' she answers absentmindedly and heads for the kitchen counter, 'Growing up happened.'

Jess' brows furrow and he watches her put coffee in the coffee maker, then take the last clean cup from the shelf.

'You sure you're not trying to breed a new form of life in here?' she asks suspiciously, gesturing at the sink. It's full of unwashed dishes, as well as a half full damp ashtray.

'What do you mean, growing up happened?' Jess asks, determined to get to the bottom of this. 'Was divorcing me part of your grown up list?'

She casts him a glare.

He breathes in and out slowly, recomposing himself.

'Sorry,' he steadies his voice, 'I'm just trying to understand.'

'There's nothing to understand,' she shrugs. 'Sometimes you just have to let go.'

'You're saying I have to let _you_ go,' Jess enunciates and she cringes inwardly. That's exactly what she's saying.

The coffee maker beeps cheerfully and she quivers at the sound.

'You seeing anyone?' he asks as she starts pouring herself coffee.

'Jess...'

She reaches for the milk on the fridge door without looking.

'The blond dick, whats-his-name, it's him, isn't it?' he asks knowingly, traces of jealousy resurfacing in his voice every now and then.

'Does it matter?' Rory asks instead of a reply. She puts two sugars and stirs.

'Given you're still my wife, it kind of does, yeah,' he snaps back.

'Oh, don't give me that,' she huffs, spilling some coffee on the bar plot as she puts the cup down with a thud. 'You didn't call me for months.'

'You mean, after you left me a note saying to not worry because you're okay but need some time alone? What was I supposed to do?'

She looks down, knowing well she put him through a hard time back then. She packed a suitcase and left. At first she stayed at Paris, then hired a flat. That was six months ago.

'I didn't leave because of you, Jess,' she says quietly, allowing herself to admit it aloud for the first time in months.

He squints.

'Sure. You left because of the neighbors.'

'Jess...'

'You'd left _months_ before the goddamn note,' he fires up but quickly recomposes. 'You weren't happy,' he continues sadly, 'and I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but something was and I couldn't bring myself to ask what. At first I thought it was because of that stupid Huntzberger guy, you really took his words in too deeply.'

_'What if he's right? If I just ain't got what it takes?'_

_'That's bull, Ror. You know it, and I know it, and everyone knows it, except for maybe some stupid guy in a leather swivel.'_

_'He's not just some guy, Jess, he's Mitchum Huntzberger, he knows what he's talking about.' _

_'Well, he's wrong.' _

_'What if I'm not up to the standards?'_

_'You're always gonna be not up to somebody's standards, Ror. After all, you married a high school dropout who works two places and takes night shifts as a delivery guy. Most people would think you regret it.'_

_'Never.'_

_'Never?'_

_'Ever. You're my hero.' _

_'Huh. I may have to remind you those words one day.' _

Rory takes a deep breath and it smells like coffee. It helps her snap out of the memory.

'Then you found that job for the online magazine and seemed to be over it,' Jess continues. 'But something was still going on. At some point I even suspected you'd cheated on me with that guy on the front seat of his Porsche.'

His last words take her by surprise and she lets out an involuntary laugh. Jess gives her a look that hesitates between anger and relief.

'Sorry, but that's insane,' she shakes her head and takes a gulp of her coffee.

He doesn't say anything back for a while. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet.

'Do you know what a man starts to think when his wife starts to get headache?'

The question is rhetorical and mostly self-ironic.

_... to honor and respect you..._

'I felt less of a man every time you hunched under my touch.'

Rory feels a well known pang in her chest. Every time she mirrors his pain, it's just another reminder of the futility of his request. What's the point of having this conversation, of spending the night talking, when all that's done is done, decisions have been made... well, at least she has her decisions made.

'Jess, why are you putting us through this?'

'Because I need to know what wasn't enough!' he suddenly bursts out. 'I just fucking _need_ to know what you set off looking for, that day when you left, hell opened and I'm not letting you leave without answering some questions.'

'Je...'

'Is he a better kisser?'

'_What_?.'

'He's quite a catch, gonna run his daddy's paper industry one day, but you never were one for the money, so I guess his millions are out of the picture. What is it then?'

'Jess, stop.'

'Is he a good fuck? I hear he's the local playboy or something. Given his silly looks, he must have quite something to make up for the fact that...'

'Jess!'

'Do you let him kiss you in public? Lay a hand on your back when you pass through a crowded room? Or brush his knee against yours when you're sitting next to each other at an official dinner?'

'Cut it, Jess!'

'Do you make love in your kitchen, so that afterwards he has to carry you to the bedroom because you feel too weak to wal...'

'I couldn't even kiss him,' she almost hisses before she slouches down to the kitchen tiles, leaning back against the oven door.

She closes her eyes and they burn.

A couple of steps. He's staying in front of her, she can feel. She doesn't open her eyes, though, or she may start crying.

'Why?' he asks dryly.

'It felt wrong,' she answers without opening her eyes.

She feels him sit down next to her.

'I don't get it, Ror,' he admits and she takes a sharp breath in before she buries her face in her palms, trying to suppress a sob.

She manages to regain control over herself and concentrates on her own breathing. In and out. Slowly. As deep and slow as she can manage.

She feels a hand on her back. He's stroking her hair.

_... to laugh with you and cry with you..._

'I missed that, you know?' he confesses.

'Making me cry?' her voice comes muffled between her hands.

He keeps tracing his fingers through her hair.

'No.' His next words brush her ear. 'Being close to you.'

She lifts her head from her hands and looks up at him. His hand stops moving, his fingers tangled in her hair. He's close. So close she can smell his cologne and the cigarette he finished just before she rang on the door. Her eyes pause on his jawline. A muscle plays over his chin. Her eyes travel up stubbly cheek and sink into dark brown.

_... to cherish you for as long as we both shall live..._

'Jess...' she utters.

'Just let me hold you,' he breathes out. 'Don't shrug your shoulders.'

Her eyes are wide and at some point she realizes she's taken hold of the end of his denim jacket. Her head is sore, mouth dry. Last thing on her mind is to shrug her shoulders.

Without tearing his eyes off hers, Jess takes hold of her arms and turns her around so that she ends up sitting on his legs facing him. He moves one hand up to cup her face and she leans into his touch. His thumb brushes against her lower lip and she shivers.

'This is...'

The feel of his breath against her lips makes her trail off. He stops himself right before their lips touch, waiting for her to pull back. She stares at him for another moment before she takes his face in her hands and crashes their lips together. Her tongue brushes his lower lip before it demands access, devouring his mouth. He pushes himself up, gathering her in his arms tighter, trying to take as much of this unexpected intimacy as possible.

The kiss is quick and deep and leaves a sore taste of bittersweet longing behind. They touch their foreheads.

'Ror...' he breathes out.

'Shush,' she puts a finger over his lips, trying to catch her own breath, 'don't say a word.'

'O-okay,' he swallows and closes his eyes as he feels her arms close tighter around his chest.

They stay in an awkward embrace for a long time before she finds her voice again.

'You asked me once if I ever regretted marrying you,' she says quietly and he waits for her to continue. 'Do you?'

'What?' he draws his head back to give her a look.

'Do _you_ ever regret marrying me?'

'No.'

It's a raw 'no' that comes between half clenched teeth, a 'no' that grazed its way up his throat and left sore marks.

'Do you ever think what it would be like if I hadn't left with you that night?'

_Come with me._

_What?_

_Come with me._

_Where?_

_I don't know. Away._

_Are you crazy?_

_Probably. Come on, do it, don't think about it._

His eyes narrow.

'Rory, wha...'

'I do,' she cuts in and his face falls before he can guard his expression from her scrutiny. 'I think about it a lot lately. I think you'd have your book published by now.'

'What?.'

'Instead of spending four years working like crazy to support your studying wife, you would've gotten your stuff together and you'd probably be running your own publishing business by now.'

'Rory, what are you talking about?'

'And I'd be out there somewhere, I'd probably have accepted that offer to go to Bosnia for four months as foreign correspondent, and the most we'd see of each other would be on Thanksgiving over turkey at Luke's.'

Jess stares at her, trying to figure what the hell she'd talking about. Doe blue has gone blurry under her lashes, highlighted by the rose tinge on her cheeks.

'I was offered to follow Obama's campaign,' she says then and he knows what her next words are gonna be even before she's said them out loud. 'I accepted.'

He blinks apprehensively.

'I...' she swallows and stands up, rubbing her palms into her jeans. 'I wouldn't have if we were together.'

Jess stands up too, his look clouding dangerously.

'Is that why you sent me the divorce papers?' he asks evenly. 'Because I was standing in the way of your career?'

She shakes her head violently.

'Did you listen at all?' she asks, trying not to lose her nerve.

'Fuck,' he lets out a dry laugh and adds to himself, 'Whatever I did, wouldn't be enough.'

Then he looks up and shots her a glare that makes her inch back.

'I would've followed you, you know?'

She blinks fast, trying to fight back any signs of hesitation.

'That's exactly why I sent the divorce papers,' she says quietly and bites a lip as she watches him pass her by. 'I read your book, Jess,' she says to his back and he stops. He doesn't turn back.

' A couple of days after graduation, I was looking for your long lost copy of _Three Comrades_ when I came across the manuscript and, Jess,' she makes a step forward, almost leveling him. 'I loved every word. I know you most probably feel awkward about it and will never truly accept how good it actually is but you should have it published, you should really...'

He turns back abruptly and she steps back.

'What are you saying then, Rory? That you left me because I'm a potentially best selling novelist who'd never give it a try if he stayed happily married to his outstanding wife?' he asks almost spitefully, his words heavy with sarcasm. 'What about you, Ror? What's your share in all this?'

Rory swallows and shakes her head slowly.

'I make choices differently when I'm with you,' she says carefully, almost to herself. 'Married Rory...'

She looks for a word.

'... she chooses differently. The thing is,' Rory smiles a small bittersweet smile, 'I like married Rory. I really do. It's just I don't know the other Rory very well, never had the time to get to know her...'

_I was _nineteen_, for Christ's sake! _ricochets in his head._  
_

She takes a breath and continues.

'I knew the kid Rory, and then the girl, young woman Rory, and then married Rory came along and I'm not sure if I missed anything in between.'

Jess stares at her with an unreadable expression. She holds a breath. Does he understand a word she's saying, she wonders. Sometimes she can't understand herself.

His eyes pin her back to the kitchen wall and she feels he can see right through her.

Then he reaches a hand out.

Her brows furrow.

She watches as dark brown goes deeper under his lashes. She knows this look. It just comes so... unexpected right now.

She hesitates. She knows what he's asking her. She wants this, she realizes. But it's not gonna change anything. Or maybe she's really afraid it could.

'You realize we're not going anywhere with this, right?' she asks, looking at his stretched hand.

'But one last time we can go there,' he shrugs, his eyes unwavering.

She takes his hand and follows him into the bedroom. It used to be their bedroom. One last time, it's gonna be their bedroom.

...

He takes his jacket and tee off quickly and tosses them to the floor, then turns to face her. She's nervous. Licks a lip, casts a look at her shoes. Steps out of them. It's awkward.

He takes her face between his palms and smooths her hair back. His look travels across her face, neck, collarbone. His eyes are wide and he's pure concentration. He starts undressing her slowly, taking his time. Blouse. One lace of her bra. Lays her back on the bed. Jeans. Other lace of her bra. His jeans. Skin. His skin warm against hers, his breath hot over her collarbone. That's when it stops feeling weird and starts to fell like home.

They make love slowly, tasting each other, memorizing each other. She arches her back and he presses into her. She pulls back and he waits. There's a common vibe pulsating through both, an unspoken synch, and they surrender to its hold.

Later, they fall asleep tangled into each other.

...

It's still dark outside when he's woken up by a quiet sob. She's slightly shaking and her tears are wetting his chest. He holds her closer and strokes her hair soothingly until she cries herself to sleep.

...

When she wakes up in the morning, she's alone in bed. She gets up and looks for him around the apartment.

When she enters the kitchen, she spots the papers on the table. It's like her eyes were deliberately looking for them.

She approaches the table and holds a breath. The papers lie there, staring at her with big dark inky eyes, and there's his signature at the bottom, right where he promised it would be. She tries to swallow a lump in her throat.

...

Jess unlocks the door slowly, delaying the finality of what's to follow. It's late afternoon and he has spent the day wandering the streets. He didn't want to be there when she left. He couldn't bring himself to watch her leave.

He walks into the kitchen numbly, his look fixed on the kitchen table.

His heart thumps wildly in his ears.

When he takes the papers into his hands, there's only one signature at the bottom. It's his signature. She hasn't signed them. He puts the papers down and allows himself to breathe.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, reviews would be highly appreciated:)_


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